


The Churches Have Run Out of Candles

by joshlymanwalkandtalk (Joshlymanwalkandtalk)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Gen, ave maria, josh's dead sister, rufus wainwright is an inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joshlymanwalkandtalk/pseuds/joshlymanwalkandtalk
Summary: Josh finds himself in a church, hiding from the cold





	

Josh walked down the barren sidewalk clutching his coat around him tightly. The hem brushed against his knees with every step, his shins feeling the full brisk chill. It wasn't as late as it looked, but it was twice cold. Flakes were only starting to fall and he still had a few blocks to go.

The sounds of traffic, the rumbling engines, slamming doors, and muffled horns, rang through the crisp air. Each gust hurt his face a little more. His hands were buried deep in his coat pockets wrapped in soft leather gloves from his mother.

His stubborn insistence to walk back was asinine and foolish, but he'd already gotten this far that there was no going back.

The cold stone and brick facades were stark in the grey twilight and artificial street light white.

Above the groan of the city, the static hum, music notes were floating around him on the sidewalk, louder with every step. A splash of fractured light painting the concrete ahead of him was the source. His fists tightened further in his pockets with each new bit of melody. A strong wooden door with a cut window of muted stained glass, one of two, was propped open. As he got closer, he could see that the window was a simple depiction of a heart wrapped in thorns. He swallowed hard, the dry winter wind making his anxiety difficult.

He could clearly hear the song now, finding himself suddenly standing just inside the doors. He grew warm, the wind unable to creep under the wool of his coat.

**_Ave, Ave, Dominus,_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Dominus tecum_ **

The long hall in front of him, through the small foyer he stood in, was dim. It almost felt safe, somehow, being in lower light. But all of his skin was on fire, his gut cold. The echo through the vast space continued in his lungs.

**_Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus_ **

The altar was lit brighter than the rest of the church. He could see shadows of people on the choir balcony where a woman was singing so delicately, he almost didn't feel the sharp stabs in his side.

**_Ventris tui, Jesus_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Ave Maria!_ **

Below, on his level, there were candles along the walls. The wrought iron racks of tall, white candles put off a warm glow. The golden pillars were interspersed with dead, black wicks nestled in cold wax. The basket of sand was pierced with thin slivers of wood, some visibly singed.

**_Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,_ ** ****__  
**_Ora pro nobis peccatoribus,_ ** **_  
_ ** ****_Ora, ora pro nobis_

His head felt light. He slid into a back pew to collect himself. He couldn't stop staring deeply into the tallest candle on the rack nearest his pew. He turned and took deep breaths with his eyes closed. The voice was divine, but made his head ring. Joanie's shrill cry, the deep painful ache in his side, the sirens that took her, the sirens that took him: it was all crashing around inside of his skull.

**_Nunc et in hora mortis,_ ** **_  
_ ** **_In hora mortis nostrae_ **

He opened his eyes, his hands gripping the bench back in front of him so hard, he'd surely leave dents.

He felt a tear rolling around the edge of his eye. He took another deep breath and leaned into it, trying to let go. He felt the crescendo, he saw her smile, his shoulders loosened, he breathed out, he let go.

**_In hora mortis nostrae._ ** **_  
_ ** **_Ave Maria!_ **

The tear rolled down his cheek and so did another one. But he was still there. He was still on the rigid bench. He was still in the long hall surrounded by candlelight. He was warm, he was alive.

Papers shuffled on the balcony in the silence.

Josh pulled himself up, standing with a heavy weight still around him.

He walked over to the candle he had his eye on earlier. The flame flickered under his breath. He remembered that they were prayers, each light symbolizing intent for someone's soul. He couldn't help but huff a sad laugh through his nose at the irony of a soul taken by a fire being prayed for over a flame. He thought about what his ancestors would think about him looking for answers in a Catholic Church. His grin pulled one side of his mouth. He moved his hands with someone else's muscle memory, pulling a sliver from the tray of sand. He touched the thin stick to the glowing wick of the beautiful, tall candle, then touched the wick of a shorter candle in the shadows. The flame came to life and he watched it for a moment. He tried to think of the happy thoughts, the good memories. He smiled fully, pulling a deep breath through his nose and carefully blew the small candle out. A slender stream of smoke twisted into the air and Josh turned away, walking back into the cold night, too far to turn back.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Rufus Wainwright song "Candles" and, of course, the Ave Maria


End file.
